This Sunday is Father’s Day. When my sister and I were growing up, neither my dad nor my mom made a big deal of the days dedicated in their honor. Nevertheless, this will be the 15th Father’s Day since he died in 2003.
I was with Banu at a craft store this past week when I saw something that brought a memory to mind. I don’t remember exactly what I was looking at! I think it was an activity book for kids. The thing is, the memory just resurfaced, and I was drawn to it.
At times in life—and this is true more so for some than others—we have moments that touch eternity. Time stands still, or so it seems. When I was fourteen, I had such an experience on a late afternoon while sitting in a chair in our living room, while my father was sitting over on the sofa.
Explanatory note: For several years when I was young, I was a devoted reader of comic books. (I always thought Marvel was better than DC!) On this particular afternoon, my dad was reading one of my comic books. (I don’t remember which one it was, so I posted images of two of my favorite superheroes, with issues of their books from that year.)
It was one of those moments when streaming bright shafts of sunlight draw the curtain on specks of dust.
Each time my dad flipped a page, I heard the rustle of the paper as it slipped through his fingers. There was just enough friction to make an insistent hush… —shhhift— —shhhift—
It was 30 seconds (or was it 30 minutes?) between —shhhift— and —shhhift— In real time the whole experience lasted 15, maybe 20, minutes. But could I call it a taste of the eternal? I didn’t want it to end.